The Elevator Pitch
by Dawn Searcher
Summary: Two Marines, an Elite, and a Grunt get into an elevator ... or so the story goes.


Disclaimer: The characters used in this story do not belong to me. They are the property of Bungie and affiliated.

Genre: Humor/Friendship

Rating: T

Author's Notes: A more or less light-hearted account of a cross-species encounter. Please advise me on any errors and oversights. Enjoy!

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**The Elevator Pitch**

Pipit was the only Unggoy on the spaceship, and quite possibly the only Unggoy in the entire universe, capable of driving a Human vehicle in a straight line, and for that, Tena 'Romar should have felt very fortunate indeed. (Just in case, though, he stood as far away as possible from the opening of the lift.) He shifted his stance, trying to look authoritative. Unfortunately, Pipit was far more concentrated on operating the arcane controls of the olive-green vehicle the Humans called a "Mongoose", and failed to be intimidated by his Sangheili supervisor. With ultimate caution, he drove it up the ramp and into the spacious lift.

"That will do," Tena said as Pipit parked the Mongoose inexpertly beside other assorted combat vehicles. Relieved, the Unggoy dismounted and shuffled to Tena's side to make room for the incoming "Warthog", a vehicle that Tena had thought clumsy before one had almost run him over on the battlefield.

Tena looked at the ground gloomily. Nothing had been working in his favour as of late. First, there was the treaty with the Humans. Not that he hated them with the religious zeal of more deeply deluded ones – he considered them almost respectable in a strange, twisted way – but they had these … quirks. They were extremely rude in the best of cases, and counted in base ten, a _completely_ irrational number. And did he mention that he was nearly run over by the rabble in a Warthog?

Fine, so he didn't like them. The second issue, however, had to do with his current situation, and was rather more irritating. Apparently, this ancient Human cruiser was so short-staffed that some Separatist leader had ordered his troops to _help_ – an unwise decision if there ever was one – and Tena had had the misfortune to be in the hangar when this was announced. So here he was, transferring vehicles from the holding bay to the loading bay. And third, the Unggoy did not crash a single Mongoose, depriving him of his chance to vent his frustration about issues one and two.

There was only one item of comfort: he had bullied the lone technician so that he could transfer the vehicles in the correct batch size of sixteen instead of the humans' foolish insistence on twenty. The said technician, still trembling, parked the last Warthog and left the lift quickly. Tena smirked. He turned to close the door on the row of neatly parked Warthogs (his handiwork) and the semi-row of haphazardly strewn Mongooses (Pipit's). However, before the rather outdated metal door slid to meet the floor, it retracted again. Two Humans appeared. One had dark hair, tan skin, and the appearance of a soldier, while the other looked considerably weaker; Tena knew white-speckled hair to be a sign of age. The tan one pushed the old one in a wheeled seat.

"Hey, just hitching a—" the tan one spoke, but its face froze when it saw the occupants of the lift.

"—ride." It finished, his face still frozen in shock. The old one, though, looked strangely calm. Tena realized that its eyes were wrapped in fabric. So that was why.

The door closed, and the lift began to move. The old one's chair slowly began to slide across the vibrating floor, its attendant still gawking at Tena and Pipit.

"Eh! Watch the old geezer!" The old one said, and the tan one sprang to action, gripping the handles of the chair with white-knuckled hands. It was giving Tena a look of unveiled rage; the old one, of course, did not notice.

"What, saw a cute strumpet or somethin'?" The old one laughed in a gruff voice. "I'm tellin' you, forget it. Maybe one of them Grunts'll find you attractive, son, just _maybe_."

"No," the tan one said defensively. At the same time, Pipit made a squeak of surprise (and disgust) at hearing the reference to his species. The old one almost leaped from its chair.

"One of 'em, here!" It roared, quite surprisingly, coming from such a frail-looking Human. Pipit promptly backed into a Warthog. "Damn, forgot the fellas are with us now. At least it's just one of the little guys." The tan one looked at Tena warily, but said nothing. Tena leaned against the wall, relaxing his posture. He surmised that the two Humans were unlikely to attack, and really wanted the tan one's death glare pointing elsewhere. Not that he was afraid of the Human, of course. Being stared at made Tena high-strung, and emerging from the lift covered in Human blood would _not_ make a pleasant impression on the rest of the ship.

At the sound of his armour hitting the wall, the old one's head snapped in his direction. "You one of ours?"

Surprised, Tena replied, "Yes". It was _technically_ true.

"W--ell," the old one relaxed as well, leaning back into its chair, "you sound like a strong man, sonny. You up for kicking some Covie ass in the near future?"

Tena could not believe it. It had mistaken him for a Human. _Sonny?_ What?

"Actually –" he was about to correct it when the tan one shook its head in warning, and mouthed something. Most probably something profane. Though confused and curious, Tena received the message. "—Yes, I am eagerly awaiting the moment."

The old one chuckled. "A little formal, sonny. If it weren't for that voice I'd have thought you're a techie." It paused, as if to gather its thoughts. Tena took the moment to reflect on how much he hated to be in the same room with babbling Humans, such as this one. Why did the lift have to move so slowly? At this rate, it was going to be at least an eighth-unit before they reached the loading bay. He would not care less about the Warthogs rolling around and possibly crushing them all, if it meant that the lift could move just a little faster. Fortunately, the old one turned to the Unggoy's general direction. "So, little buddy, what're you n' our man doin' here?"

Tena gave a curt nod to Pipit. The Unggoy answered, "Me help bring vehicles to loading bay. Me only drive small ones. Excellency drive big ones with guns."

The tan one looked at the contrasting levels of neatness in vehicle parking and raised an amused eyebrow, dropping the glare for the first time. "Well, I'll never make _it_ the designated driver."

The old one slapped its thigh and laughed. "Oy, this is just _grand_! It thinks you're one of those goddamn Elites, your _Excellency_!" it tipped its chin at Tena. "You must look real mean, sonny. Ever seen those monsters attack? Impressive sight, last you'll ever see. Damn. _Damn them."_ It hissed the last words vehemently.

Tena's fingers twitched involuntarily for his plasma rifle, which was not there; weapons had been taken away from the ex-Covenant to prevent _accidents_. Why did the gods decide to torture him so? As if sensing his hostility, the tan one bravely left the old one's side and approached him, stopping a span away from the Sangheili. "He doesn't mean it," it whispered.

The tan one was probably right. Weak members of the Human species he encountered in battle would often sprout nonsense, their decidedly feeble minds bent under unendurable duress.

"He's got quite a past – you need to understand –"

"…It was jus' about dawn, in a bloody canyon." The old one said in a hushed voice. The tan one turned towards it.

"We were holdin' off pretty well for a couple of beat-up guys, me n' my buddies. Pee-ter was wounded and all out of sorts – we left him near the heater 'cuz the nights got pretty cold on that dirtball of a planet, can't remember the damn name. The five of us, plus Pee-ter makes six – we held our position 'gainst them for days. They jus' kept throwing those little bastards at us, and we jus' sent 'em back in shreds. This one time Jackals shot out Pee-ter's shoulder and leg, and we let 'em have hell for it, yessir.

"Then, mornin' of the fourth day. We were sorting our ammo, the usual, n' Raf was getting the ration packs from the crates in the back. All of a sudden another wave of those little buggers starts shootin' from behind some rocks, and we shot back and killed one or two, for starters. Then Raf gave this scary-ass scream, and Peter starts screamin' too, and guess what we got back there?"

Tena could imagine the situation perfectly. A Human base perched in an inaccessible area. A team of Humans guarding a slot canyon – one so narrow that six of the creatures could easily fend off waves of Covenant soldiers, as long as ammunition and cover was plentiful. And in order to flush them out –

"I told my team that I'd finish off the four or five Grunts hidin' behind the rocks, while they went n' helped Raf and Pee-t. I chucked a couple grenades that sent 'em out in the open, then shot whichever son-of-a-bitch that dared to stay breathin'.

" 'Course, when I'd turned to the back, I knew it was all over. This damn huge red _thing_ stood over a corpse so bloody I couldn't tell who it was. And we looked at each other, you know? A connection. Like we understood each other.

"Well, the Elite looked like 'I'm gonna rip your head clean off', and I probably looked like 'crap it's gonna rip my head off', you know?"

It was what Tena himself would have done. Under the cover of darkness, scale the steep cliffs to surprise the enemy with an attack from the rear, while ordering troops to create a diversion at the front.

It was the manner in which Human told its story that stirred Tena's spirit, bringing to the surface a measure of pity. It was strange, he thought as he stared at his own red-clad feet, strange how a change in perspective can have such effects on him. For the first time, he willed himself to not simply hear, but to listen to the Human.

"I couldn't just make its job easy, 'fter all, so I dropped flat and rolled outta the way when it began shootin' at me. I got behind this slab o' rock and got prepared to die. I fished out a grenade and waited for it to turn the corner. But then I realized that I weren't dealin' with regular Covies anymore. All of a sudden, this monster leaps clean over the rock and lands right beside me.

"It hit me with that rifle, made me fly like a birdie before landin' on my back. Before that, though, I managed to throw the grenade at it – one of those blue sticky ones."

Tena realized that the old one's face was covered with burns. Plasma burns. Especially serious-looking ones blossomed in dark patches, surrounding his bandaged eyes.

"And the rest, they say, is history, Jaw-ge." The tan one said; he was back at the old one's side and looking warily at Tena, probably watching for more signs of aggression. It talked to the one called Jawge soothingly. Jawge obviously wanted to finish telling his story, but the tan one obviously did _not_ want Jawge to describe the death of the Major, for fear of provoking Tena more than he already has. Pipit, too, had listened wide-eyed and was now paying close attention to Tena.

To the relief of all, Tena showed his palms in a gesture of acceptance. The tan one wiped its brow, while Pipit let out a rather Human-like sigh.

He thought back to the Humans that used the Warthog against him. He had made sure they died, all of them.

He closed his eyes.

"May the spirits of your comrades rest in blessed peace," he said to Jawge, who nodded absently. He tried to provide comfort without providing an apology, and it did not feel enough.

The lift began to slow its ascent. Tena opened his eyes, and it was as if whole units have passed since he had smirked at the frightened technician. Yes, the change was small, but he could feel it grow and spread within himself. Some day, in the future, he will be prepared to make an apology to a Human, and he was quite comfortable with the thought.

"Well, sonny, I guess this is goodbye." The lift stopped. The door began to open. And Jawge held out his hand.

Tena did not know what to do. If he did as Jawge wished, the old one would possibly collapse due to the shock – or worse. If he did not, then the tan one would think him disrespectful, unwilling to take steps in the direction of inter-species friendship. He looked at the tan one, who looked back blankly, his expression without hope.

He took the proffered hand.

To everyone's surprise, Jawge shook it vigorously.

"I knew it, sonny, these old ears don't mistake that breathin' of yours. You must be a splendid fellow to stand firm 'gainst all that cursing." He paused, releasing Tena's hand. With a roguish grin, he cried as the tan one pushed his chair down the ramp:

"You Elites are pretty tough, and you know it. Now what _I _wanna know is: who's tougher, you or those hulking Brute bastards down there?"

"Us, naturally."

"Then prove it! See ya, sonny, and good luck!" Jawge's laughter echoed in the huge loading bay.

Tena smiled, and climbed into a Warthog. Prove it he would.

End

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